


The Tattooed Gentleman

by Moonshine_Givens



Category: Justified
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Humor, M/M, a bit of crack, birthday fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-01
Updated: 2013-02-01
Packaged: 2017-11-27 18:51:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/665285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonshine_Givens/pseuds/Moonshine_Givens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Did you know that, for $100 per hour, you can hire a old man to show his tattooed body in Harlan County?</p><p>or</p><p>Tim gets to Raylan's birthday party already expecting it to be awkward on the account of the man being married to Boyd Crowder. He wasn't prepared for this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tattooed Gentleman

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, gunslingers! Here we are again. Please forgive any mistakes and please read the end note! Hope you enjoy!

He gets there with a six pack. He feels terrible about it as well: he actually spent half a day trying to figure out what to buy Raylan as a gift, but he hasn’t got a clue of what the man might need, even after working for five years with him and considering himself somewhat a friend. Tim thought about buying a coffee mug, but those were the kind of gifts the guy you don’t like very much in the office gives you: a mug, a pen, a damn stapler. Those were gifts you give a stranger when you don’t know what to buy him. Tim feels guilty even considering it.

So Tim thinks about buying a shirt, and that seems to fall into the other end of the spectrum: to close, to intimate. He tries to shake the feeling and just buy Raylan a shirt, any shirt, even an ugly one; it’s not underwear, for heaven’s sake. But he thinks about Raylan wearing it and the thing rubbing against his body and folded with all his other clothes; it keeps making him feel weird. In the end, he lies to himself and says he doesn’t have enough fashion sense to buy the most desired – and, let’s face it, probably the vainest – man in eastern Kentucky clothes.

He thinks about movies, then, because Raylan is not a man that’ll spend his time reading, but he might watch something if it has enough “bangs”. Just thinking about Raylan seems to make it easy – Tim decides to buy a western. The next half an hour goes by with Tim standing in the middle of a small bookstore, holding the Quentin Tarantino’s western in his hand, trying to understand out why does it sounds like such a bad idea. Finally, he figures the whole thing might get awkward, since Raylan is, now-a-days, fucking a guy who could easily fit as the villain of one of Tarantino’s movies.

And that’s the whole thing. That the fucking thing with fucking Raylan fucking _fucking_ Boyd Crowder: everything could, and usually did, get awkward so fucking fast lately. And by lately, of course Tim means the last couple of years. And by awkward, of course Tim means a fucking disaster for everyone involved. Jesus, you’d think social gatherings couldn’t be more painful than a bullet through your chest, but the way Crowder said “I miss the days when you would just shoot me” in the last Christmas party really put things in perspective.

That’s, of course, part of the problem as well: Tim couldn’t help but blame Raylan a bit on it. If he was feeling realistic, he blamed Raylan a lot, and probably everyone else did as well – Crowder included. Raylan keeps trying too hard to make things normal, to pretend not that Crowder’s past life as a criminal was water under the bridge, but to actually pretend there was _no water and no bridge_. That he just showed up one day with a perfect normal, perfect adjusted partner, who happens to be a man but is also very fond of reading, did you know Boyd loves Isaac Asimov?, and Tim can just see the pain in Boyd’s eyes as everyone tries not to talk about bank robbers, shootings, fires, whores and prisons in a damn U.S. Marshal’s Office.

One thing’s for sure: the man really loves Raylan, since Tim can’t think of another good reason why would anyone in this universe put up with so much crap. In fact, love seems like a pretty petty reason to stand on office parties with a fake smile and a paper cup of diet coke as everyone around talks loudly about the weather this weekend. Tim doesn’t think he could ever love anyone so much.

All that being considered with thought and care, Tim Gutterson decides to show up to Raylan’s 46 years old birthday party with booze, because you can never get too much booze in a party. Also, Raylan was the kind of man that always seemed like he needs a drink – and better life choices, but those aren’t for selling –, especially when submitting Boyd to “normalcy”. Tim ponders as well that things could never get more awkward with booze, only less awkward, and God is witness they need a backup plan to escape the awkward.

Gutterson considers for a while buying some good stuff, some nice whiskey they would all enjoy. But then he remembers Boyd never drinks at parties where more than two marshals are attending, and that means that today he’s probably not going to drink in a party held at his own house. That sucks, and Raylan sucks, and since Tim’s still blaming Raylan for making them all go through this, he just buys beer and goes to face the music.

*****

He gets to their apartment in Lexington and doesn’t have to knock: the door is unlocked and there’s music inside, some soft classic rock that Gutterson starts praying now it doesn’t get to Bon Jovi. If this whole thing gets to Bon Jovi, he’s jumping the fucking boat, Raylan’s birthday be dammed.

The first thing he sees as he enters is Ava Crowder, and of course those assholes invited the woman both of them had slept with. She looks as pretty as ever, standing by the door, her blond hair shining in the yellow light of the apartment, curls hanging low on her shoulders. Doesn’t seem a day older, as well.

Ava looks like she’s been talking – or rather, talked at – with some short, fat guy for a while, and if Gutterson has to judge by her body posture alone, he’ll guess she’s uncomfortable as hell, even though she’s smiling: guy’s probably hitting on her. That’s probably the reason why, as soon as she sees him, she yells “Tim!” as if they’re old friends, even though he’s quite sure it’s been over a year since he last saw her.

Tim plays along; hugging her tight and smiling with as much charm he can gather. The guy excuses himself after that, going to the bathroom, or something. Tim is just beginning to politely say: “Ava Crowder, how are y…” when something crosses Tim line of vision behind Ava’s shoulder and makes Tim choke out a “What the fucking hell?” instead.

Well, not exactly something. Someone, actually.

There is a naked, elderly dude walking around Raylan and Boyd’s living room.

Oh, better yet: there is a semi-naked, elderly dude walking around Raylan and Boyd’s living room. Tim tells himself it’s important to mark the difference, if anything, to keep in mind that things could actually be worst, that was actually a possibility. The guy was still wearing some sort of shorts, so it was still suitable for minors.

Still. The semi-naked dude had tattoos. Not a normal, though guy amount of tattoos, either. In fact, the expanse of wrinkled skin the world could unfortunately see was mostly covered in black ink, with the occasional hint of color.

What. The. Hell.

“Miss Crowder, please tell me that man is one of Boyd’s guests, ‘cause if he’s in any way related to Raylan, I’m not sure I’ll be able to work with the man ever again.”

(Also, Tim was quietly fearing he’s PTSD was finally getting out of hand and he was hallucinating naked old bikers, so he would very much like to be reassured that the guy in fact exists outside of his worst nightmares.)

“I’ll tell you anythin’ you want to know if you promise stop callin’ me Miss Crowder, deputy, I ain’t giving no statements today. Oh, and if you’d be so kind to offer a lady a beer…”

Tim didn’t respond with words, but grabbed a beer from the six pack without taking his eyes from the man in front of them, who was now talking to some brunette who looked too young to be in this party. Gutterson was quite sure he would need something stronger to understand what was happening here, but he grabbed a beer for himself as well, just in case Crowder had hidden the good liquor.

Ava took one big gulp and started her tale: “That man ain’t no guest, son. He’s in the circus.”

“The circus?”

“Yeah, you know, clowns and shit. He’s not from ‘round here as well, he came all the way from Missouri, or so Bob told me. Damn if I’ll come near him, all that ink is givin’ me the creeps.”

“Can’t imagine why.” Tim whispered, and tried to understand what Ava was telling him. “Okay, let me get this straight: they don’t know this man?”

“What, you thought it was one of Raylan’s uncles or something? No, the man is paid to come to parties like this and show his tattoos.”

Tim was sure there was a lot an ordinary man could say to the revelation that his partner and friend had hired an old tattooed man to stand around half-naked in his birthday party, but the only thing he could babble was _“Why?”_

“Why does he get paid to show his tattoos? Those are hard times, deputy, you gotta earn your income where you can.”

Tim was about to flee this episode of the “Twilight Zone” when he noticed Ava was actually smiling into her beer, apparently taking pleasure from Tim’s suffering.

“Okay, Ava. You’re really smart. You gonna tell me what the hell possessed them to hire this guy?”

“Hell if I know. All the cowboys strippers were already booked? Your guess’s as good as mine, deputy. But if you ask me, this is Boyd’s doing. He keeps calling me after all those terrible parties Raylan insists he must mingle with you guys, tellin’ me how bad it is. Maybe he got fed up and paid someone else to be the freak for a night.”

Damn. Yeah, he knew things were hard on Boyd, especially since Raylan was so fond of pretending they were just another normal couple, nothing to see here, but Tim didn’t thought Boyd would snap like that and just… rent an elderly.

Tim couldn’t help it. He was laughing like crazy a second later.

“Sorry, Ava, I just… Jesus, I just hope this wasn’t Boyd’s way of stating he’s normal, ‘cause I know those guys better than most and I’m questioning their sanity right now.”

“Trust me, hon, ain’t no one who know those men better than myself and this… downright madness.”

Tim looks at her, really looks at her. She really is gorgeous and, sexual orientations aside, madness would be to have a girl like that and just let her go, as they both did. She was an incredible woman, ready to fight and shoot and die and kill. She was something else.

“You’re something else, Ava Crowder.” Tim said out loud, because it deserved to be heard, because it wasn’t heard enough.

“Amen to that.”

“And you’re lovely this evening, may I tell you.”

She turned to look at him, the rim of the beer bottle still on her lips, frown on her face.

“Why do you sound so surprised? Did you thought you were gonna find me cryin’ a river over those two dumbasses?”

“Actually, I didn’t consider the possibility that you’d be here, mam. Not after the whole… gay surprise.”

“Not so surprising if you’re sleeping with them.” she murmured against her beer, a sly smile on her face. Louder, she said: “We’re still friends, you know? Sure I was mad at Boyd for leavin’ everything, you know, not just me, but… everything, if you get what I’m sayin…”

“No need to go into details, mam, I’m still an officer of the law.”

“Think you could arrest me, deputy Gutterson? Better men have tried.” They both winked at the same time, and their flirting was so harmless they were both laughing the next moment. “But as I was saying, I ain’t mad any more. We can’t help who we fall in love with, and their story was older than mine and Boyd’s. Or mine and Raylan’s. In the end, I told Boyd he should be with Raylan and I’m glad he followed my advice.”

“You told him?”

She was laughing then. “You don’t know that? That’s a great story, I thought Raylan would have told you… oh crap, Bob’s comin’ our way again. I’ll hide in the kitchen for a while.”

So that wasn’t the time Tim learned about how Raylan and Boyd finally got together. That was the time Tim learned that maybe they couldn’t be with Ava because she was a much better woman than they both deserved.

*****

The apartment wasn’t big, so even if there wasn’t many people drinking and talking around, it still felt crowded and suffocating. Especially since most of the party was actually trying to avoid standing next to the freak-and-naked elephant in the room.

Tim felt both the urges to escape to the least crowded section of the party and stay as far as he could from the guy – unfortunately, he couldn’t do both at the same time, and not Raylan or Boyd were anywhere to be seen so he could yell at them both.

In the end, the panic of having to greet too many people at the same time made he wander towards the inked man, but far enough to not seem like a guest interested to be entertained by wrinkled skin. He was so busy trying to maintain that impossible administration of space he stumbled over the girl he had seen before: skinny little thing, long light brown hair, no make-up, jeans and a plaid shirt. Tim thought he was probably acting like a freak (not hey-you-have-too-many-tattoos kind of freak, but actually let-me-read-your-rights kind of freak) but he couldn’t help himself – the girl’s attitude was so strong he couldn’t take his eyes of her. Besides, he had that nagging feeling he had met her before somewhere. For about two seconds he asked himself if she wasn’t Art’s younger daughter, but them it clicked.

“Loretta? Loretta McCready?”

Loretta turned as he called, confused at first but slowly recognizing Tim as well. That didn’t change her ever serious expression. With her sharp attention turned towards him, Tim could see that even now – as a young woman – she still looked like something out of a vengeance movie, all thunder and will.

He was glad he didn’t buy “True Grit” for Raylan as well.

“Deputy… Gutterson, that it? We met when…”

“When you were trying to shoot Mags Bennett, and yeah, that’s right. You may call me Tim, though.” He offered his hand out, which she took with a suspicious look.

“You have a very funny way of putting things, marshal.”

“Learned a long time ago with Boyd that the best way to approach this stuff was not to pretend we met at the church.” _if only Raylan could understand it_ , Tim thought to himself. “Hope I didn’t offend you.”

Loretta rolled her eyes. Of course he couldn’t offend her – she was made of steel and bones, as Harlan women tended to be. She gestured at the six pack still hanging on Tim’s hand. “The least you could do is offer me some beer to help erase all those painful memories you brought back to life.”

“You old enough?”

“We met when I was fourteen, Tim, that was almost six years ago. You do your Math.”

“Never was any good at Math.” He says, picking a bottle for her and taking a sip of his own beer, which somehow he forgot was still in his hand. “So, you friends with Boyd’s guest already?” he point in the general direction of the weird guy.

“You think that’s Boyd’s doing?”

“You think it’s Raylan’s?”

“Well, it’s his birthday, right? I’m not sure Boyd would intrude like that. Besides, he’s the one with a circus fixation.”

“Raylan Givens?” seriously, this day just keeps getting better and better.

“Yeah, Raylan Givens, the lawman. He took me there once, a small circus just outside of Versailles, I was sixteen, I think. First time I went to the circus. Hell, only time I went to the circus. When I said I was much too old for clowns he told me we weren’t there for no clowns, that we’d come to see the bearded woman. He was laughin’ like crazy at the midgets as well. I think he likes weird shit like that, you know how bad his sense of humor can be.”

“I never knew that about Raylan.” Tim whispered, after a while, deciding internally that yes, Raylan laughing at midgets was mildly offensive and made him an asshole.

Loretta didn’t answer right away, and they stood side by side looking at the way people moved when they were trying to be happy. The way they drank, and talked, and sometimes smiled: familiar faces in a party. Tim decided he could spend a whole day standing next to the girl, being quiet and drinking beer, because Loretta seemed to understand quietness. Seemed to understand how the silence could be important, awkward and unnerving but important, the moment you stop to drink up everything happening around you. She wasn’t intimidated by the silence, but then, Gutterson couldn’t think of a force of nature wild enough to intimidate Loretta McCready, not now, not after everything.

Tim decided as well that Loretta was the rare type of human being that could spend days sitting in silence outside of someone’s window, still and awake, watching their lives and the quietness of their day-to-day life, before firing a fatal shot.

When she did talk, it was in a slow, dreamy tone, as if she was talking to herself. Some of the steel had melted behind her eyes, and she wasn’t looking at anything in the room.

“I was so mad at him that day. I kept yelling at him ‘cause I thought no circus and no money in this world could fix what I had lost. I thought I was broken. Damaged somehow… not a kid anymore. I thought… and then Raylan comes and buys me ice cream and cotton candy and popcorn and I remember I never felt so full in my life, and my fingers were sticky with sugar the whole day. And he was laughing, he kept laughing, even when I was so mad at him. I don’t think I ever saw Raylan laugh that much, he’s always such a serious man… but to see him laugh fixed something for me, you know? That he had lost so much as well and that he could be an asshole and laugh at the midgets and eat popcorn… I couldn’t remember why I was so mad with him by the end of the day.”

She didn’t look in his direction, and the smile she had to offer was small and quickly disappeared.

“I didn’t know you kept in touch.”

“He always calls.” She didn’t say, but Tim knew: Raylan had to always be the one to pick up the phone, because she wouldn’t do that, she would never dial his number, never show at his door, never try to reach, unless she was in great danger or he invited her in first.

“Boyd writes sometimes as well. Real letters, not emails. Raylan says he just wants an excuse to write to someone who’s in another state a letter, and since everyone they know is here he writes me.” she shrugs then, a small movement with her shoulders who reminds Tim of how young she is. “I like the letters anyway. Boyd knows his way with words.”

“He sure does. I take it you’re in college now.”

“Yeah. No idea where it’ll take me, though.” For the first time since they started talking, Loretta turns to him, looking him straight in the eyes, and she may not be damaged, but she’s still not whole either, she’s still the girl who once held a gun against Mags Bennett, wild and angry. “Raylan says I should consider becoming a marshal. What do you think, deputy Gutterson?”

*****

“Great party, hm?” says the man to his right.

Tim thinks he shouldn’t be judging people based on their looks: people can be chubby or skinny, tall or short, gorgeous or ugly and still be wonderful, amazing creatures. He tries to tell himself that because he doesn’t want to end up an ass like Raylan, who laughs at midgets and hires elderly people to stand naked on their living room.

But he can’t help himself thinking that the guy by his side looks like a cartoon version of someone real: all spherical shapes. Tim has an especial kind of admiration for people with no physical qualities that could still befriend Raylan Givens – it was hard enough for Tim, and he was pretty in shape.

Tim felt the urge to hug the little guy, which he translated to a much less creepy handshake.

“Hi, I’m Tim Gutterson.”

“Bob Constable. You work with Raylan, Tim?”

“I’m his partner, actually.” The tattooed guy chooses that moment to do a small catwalk in the living room, complete with exaggerated turns at the end. “I mean, I’m seriously considering asking for a transfer after _that_ , but yes, I was his partner until this afternoon.”

“Oh, you mean Aaron?” Bob is laughing as if there wasn’t nightmare fuel just dancing around their friend’s birthday party. “Yeah, it’s crazy, right? Those guys really know how to throw a party.”

Wait, what?

“Wait, what? What do you mean, ‘those guys’?”

“Who do you think I mean, man? Raylan and Boyd, of course. Hey, is that beer? Thanks, man.” Bob swallowed some doritos – how old was Raylan turning anyway, 16? – and chased it with the beer he snatched from Tim’s gift. “I think they had a great idea there. Aaron really added life to the party.”

“You think they both hired the guy? Together?”

“Well, yeah, I mean, sure. Great move of them.”

Tim stood chocked, looking between Bob Constable’s honest and open chubby face and the weir guy flexing his non-existent muscles by the TV.

“You’re not shitting me?” Tim asked slowly, just to be sure.

“Why would I be shitting you, son? Aaron is here to draw attention and make people talk. We are talking, right?”

Shit. That made sense.

“Where are they anyway?” Really, the apartment wasn’t that big and Tim was already half way through the living room, unless they were hiding behind the curtain they were not in the party at all.

“Raylan and Boyd? Hell if I know.” Bob snorted them, an ugly sound. “Raylan’s probably collecting his birthday blowjob. Oh look, is that Ava? I gotta ask her something. Be back in a minute.”

*****

Tim is trying to get to the snacks when he hears giggling. The first thing that occurs to him is that it actually makes sense in a party where the food mostly consists of Doritos and M&Ms that there would be giggling, but still. The second thing is that he knows the voices, if not the giggling.

“…so I said to him, ‘Does he still screams _fire in the hole_?’”

Rachel had tears running down her face freely, her face bright red, folded over herself and holding her stomach, trying not to laugh too loudly. By her side, in the couch, both partially hidden by the snacks table, was Chief Art Mullen, laughing stupidly at his own joke.

Between them, there was a jar of some clear liquid.

“I can’t believe I have to work with you guys.”

“Tim!” Rachel squealed loud enough that half the party stopped staring at the tattooed man dancing to soft rock. “You’re here!”

“And you’re drunk.” Really, this was too much fun. Rachel Brooks, usually so controlled and cool, stupidly drunk. Best. Party. _Ever_.

For a seconded it looked like she was going to deny it. But then Art started giggling and she started giggling and even their drunk brains understood there was no point arguing it. “… had to.” She said, between giggles. “Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to take the Tattooed Gentleman.”

“The Tattooed Gentleman?”

“That his stage name.” Art supplied, taking the remaining beers out of Tim’s hands. “Boyd told so.”

“Oh, so you actually talked to Boyd?”

“’Course, who do you think got us the moonshine?” Rachel raised her glass, the transparent liquid spilling on the couch and on her clothes. “We got here early.”

“Way early.” Art agreed.

“Just us and the Tattooed Gentleman. No way I could handle that sober.”

Tim sat on a chair beside them, happy to finally find his friends.

“Did Boyd tell you whose brilliant idea it was to hire that guy, anyway?”

“Like there’s any question about it.” Art huffed out, opening a bottle and handle it to Rachel, then proceeding to the same for himself.

“What do you mean?” Rachel asked, slowly blinking her eyes.

“C’mon, you don’t really think Raylan would do something like that? Of course this is Boyd’s idea of fun. I mean, this whole thing was his idea – celebrating a 46 birthday, all that. The party. This guy’s probably Boyd’s asshole way of preaching Raylan about the passing of the time and all that philosophical shit he’s so found of.”

Rachel looked like she was thinking hard about the matter, as she swallowed the beer in big gulps. Tim thought about warning her that she shouldn’t be mixing moonshine with beer, but the prospect of seeing her even more shitfaced was just too good. Art probably deserved the headache he was going to get tomorrow for still resenting Boyd after all those years.

“I don’t think that’s it, boss, really. Think about it. Boyd is the one with all the tattoos. We keep judging Boyd for it, because every tattoo represents… represents one of Boyd’s mistakes, one of his sins: the swastika, the JC, the prison tattoos. He can’t run away from his own skin, and you’ll agree with me that sometimes it must be pretty uncomfortable for him to be on his skin, to wear those marks. So I’d imagine… I’d imagine that… Raylan, yeah, Raylan would try to make him feel… I don’t know… better about it.”

“By hiring an old dude.” Tim said, surprised Rachel was so articulated when she was clearly unable to rise from the couch.

“There are worst ways.” the woman shrugged, downing the rest of her beer. “This is Raylan we’re talking about.”

“Here they are.” Art said.

Coming from inside the apartment were Raylan and Boyd, both looking happy and relaxed. Tim was starting to get up to talk to both of them – and possibly demand an explanation as to why he would have to pay for therapy from now on – when the front door opened, as if on cue, and Winona came in, a gift with a red ribbon in her right hand and her son on the left.

“You did it!” the whole party stopped talking to stare at the little boy, jumping in the same place as a complete maniac, excitement taking over as he yelled and pointed at the circus artist. “Dad! Uncle Boyd! You did it! You really did it! You brought me the Tattooed Gentleman!”

The kid was running towards both men in the next second, hugging their legs and pulling on their hands, trying to bring them closer to the Tattooed Gentleman.

“Well,” Rachel said, sipping at Art’s beer. “Looks like we were both wrong.”

*****

“So… you’re old.”

Raylan just smiled, leaning against a wall and pretending not to stare at his son and Boyd.

“At least I’m not a cheap bastard. Where the hell is my birthday gift, Gutterson?”

Tim looked down on his hand, where the only remains of the six pack were the label of the beer he had been drinking.

“Uhm…get you one on Monday?” Raylan laughed, clearly pleased. “Or, I could save you from paying all the therapy I’m gonna need after today.”

“Oh, c’mon, Tim, it wasn’t that bad. We survived Art in a swimsuit that one time, didn’t we?”

“Damn you, Raylan, I had successfully repressed that memory!”

“Sorry to trigger you.” Raylan didn’t sound sorry at all. In fact, he had the biggest smile as they both watched Boyd lifting the child in his arms and pointing the different designs of tattoo on the artist’s back.

“So, what’s the deal with the tattoos?”

“Graham is getting on that phase where kids obsess over somethin’ out of nowhere. Well, I guess we did discuss tattoos with him ‘cause of all the ink Boyd has, but we didn’t know he was going to become such a… enthusiast. He says he’s gonna be an artist when he grows up.”

Tim is sure Raylan wants to sound annoyed with the whole thing, but he’s definitely failing.

“And I’m assuming he got to the Tattooed Gentleman…”

“’Cause Google is evil, yeah. So he kept cryin’ over wanting to see the damn man, asking if me and Boyd couldn’t bring him to town. I mean, what else could we do.”

Tim watched as Boyd helped Graham draw one of the tattoos in a little notebook. Raylan stopped pretending he was just scanning the room and allowed himself to stare at his son and his lover, clearly the happiest man alive.

Wait.

“You fucker, you were really getting your birthday blowjob, weren’t you?” Tim said, realizing Raylan’s hair was still wet from a shower. “You’re unbelievable, Givens!”

“Shut up, the kid is going to sleep over; we had to make it work.” Raylan was blushing in the most ridiculous fashion, grabbing a beer in a nearby table just so he had something to do with his hands.

“Yeah yeah, alright, asshole.” Tim bumped shoulders with him, realizing that this whole meeting had a lot of surrealism, but not much in the awkward front. Things were good. “Happy birthday, Raylan.”

Raylan smiled slowly, never taking his eyes out of Graham and Boyd. “Yeah. It really is.”

Somewhere in the house, Bon Jovi is singing about a bleeding heart.

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I have a un-finished series and a un-finished fic: I'm sorry I haven't updated any of it. I plan to do it soon, only college is trying to kill me and I don't have time: the only reason I wrote this was because I fooled myself thinking it was going to be really really quick.  
> Second: the Tattooed Gentleman is real! Here you can hire him: http://www.gigmasters.com/human-statue/The-Tattooed-Gentleman/  
> The reason why I found him was because I was doing research for another fic, and this guy totally stuck in my head with the message "why would anyone hire such services?" - this fic is my desperate attempt to answer it.  
> Third: I have no idea where I read about Loretta being a marshal - it was surely in a blog in tumblr, but I can remember who it was. I thought it was a gorgeous idea, so I'm stealing it. I'm sorry.  
> and finally, last but not least: I LOVE Bon Jovi. The hate is all Gutterson's, I swear.  
> Hope you enjoyed that! Wanna reach me, I'm at ohthati.tumblr.com  
> P.S.: I'm sorry for the lack of Boyd in a BoydXRaylan fic. I still love you, Boyd, you're still my favorite.


End file.
